Paving Paradise
by Dianne
Summary: Hi, I'm the Trickster. The Winchesters don't think much of me after the stunts I pulled on Dean what with the piano and the dog and the whole choking death thing, but I have a soft spot for them. And I'm a god. It's my turn to try to undo Dean's deal.


_The Door To Dean's Soul  
_

_Title: The Door To Dean's Soul_

_Author: Dianne_

_Characters: Sam, Dean, the Trickster, Castiel_

_Rating: PG_

_Warnings: none_

_Summary:_ _Take a bunch of hyssop, dip it into the blood in the basin and put some of the blood on the top and on both sides of the doorframe. Not one of you shall go out the door of his house until the morning. ~ Exodus 12:22__ If only a soul could be marked for preservation as easily. _

_Word Count: 6,478_

_Disclaimer: This story was written for fun, no copyright infringement intended._

_A/N: An AU story told from the Trickster's POV. Takes place in S3, one month before Dean's deal comes due._

"Please allow me to introduce myself," I sing into my lollipop as I survey my prey. What a lame song. But it made the Rolling Stones famous. And all they had to do was sing about _him_. Hmm, I might have to look into a theme song of my own. Anyway, for your four-one-one, my turn-ons are killing people who are dicks, you know, frat boys who torment other frat boys, people who experiment on animals, and professors who should know better. Oh, and the Winchesters, fascinating. Just fascinating.

I am known as the Trickster. The ladies know me as _OH, God! OH, God!_ But that's another story.

This story is getting old, actually. I really am getting soft with age. But the Winchester's father saved my life once upon a time, and though I owe debt to no man, still I feel somehow that to waste those boys would be a loss. I don't usually do this. Intervene, I mean. I'm a god I have better things to do. But the luxury of time is mine and it makes for good entertainment. If they lose, I have an epic tragedy to applaud. If they win, maybe I'll make them compose a song for me.

_A hundred and fifty three licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop, silly mortals._ But then I do have a silver tongue. And they give that credit to _him_. I reach over the counter of the confection stand in the bright sun and wind some cotton candy around my hand, grabbing a bag of it for the road as the vendor looks at a buxom blonde going by on roller blades. Today is his lucky day.

The blonde loses control, her blades taking her out onto the wharf as the vendor rushes to save her, no doubt hoping she'll end up in the water and need mouth-to-mouth-resuscitation. I fill my pockets with candy apples and caramel corn. It's a pity that Coney Island is in its last year.

The water sparkles under the old wharf … all that will be left of this place soon. Humans don't have any idea what they're losing here, for condominiums that will become the slums of tomorrow. They have no pride in their past. No heed for their future. No more local saltwater taffy; idiots, most of them.

And speaking of idiots, here they are, right on time. Handsome devils. Vendor dude didn't stand a chance with Saint Sammy around. Already the buxom blonde lies in his arms, in his jacket. But once she's back on her feet, Saint Sammy turns her over to vendor dude. I did say it was vendor dude's lucky day. Too bad buxom blonde likes cotton candy so much. He'd better enjoy that size six now. Good thing he has a bit of a thing for Mrs. Clause.

Now back to our story. Like I said, Dean would be shame to waste. I see a bit of myself in him, actually. I will be seriously pissing off some problematic beings if I help break Dean's deal, but I'm a god, so what do I care? I don't like knowing the story's ending so I'll leave the plot twists to them and provide them with the clues they will need. I thought this would be a fitting location. Coney Island is from a bygone era, being swallowed up by _progress_ in its dying year. Dean is an old soul from a bygone era. I may save them both. Or not. But I really like this salt-water taffy.

And now I'll just let you see my Masterpiece Theater production through the eyes of the characters themselves. I just spotted some funnel cakes with ice cream and strawberry sauce! This place rocks!

XXXX

"Dean, we don't have to time to go on the rides," Sam said.

Dean's leg swung over the side of the roller coaster cart as he took a seat and patted the plastic bench beside him. Sam shook his head and climbed in, his legs pushed up to nearly his midriff. The safety bar lowered and already Dean let go of the handles, his hands over his head in anticipation. He elbowed Sam in the ribs until Sam, too, let go.

At the top of each peak, in large block lettering, was a message for idiots, daredevils or the severally depressed: _Do not stand up. Keep arms and legs inside the cart at all times._

For a guy who hated flying, Dean was very comfortable with other modes of transportation or thrills. Sam could almost feel Dean's internal struggle. _Don't stand up, or what? I'll die?_ It was written all over his face. Sam couldn't tell if it was another one of the stages of death or just another one of Dean's many thrill-seeking fixes.

The ride stopped with a neck-jerking finality. Dean let out a whoop of joy and Sam disentangled himself from the safety bar and wobbled out of the contraption looking a little grey.

"Corn dogs," shouted Dean, heading to the stand nearby, forgetting about Sam, who was leaning against a garbage container shaped like one of the three little pigs. Dean returned minutes later, handing a corn dog to Sam. Sam handed it back to him.

"Mmm, next the tea cup and saucers." Dean pointed Sam's corn dog in the direction of the spinning ride, whose lights had just come on, announcing sunset. One by one, the other rides lit up, neon bursts of pink, blue, yellow and green heaven. For everyone but Sam.

All along the walkways, couples strode hand in hand. Sam caught snippets of conversations of older folks reminiscing and lamenting about the grand old place. Two boys, obviously brothers, slapped each other on the back as they ran toward the Tilt-A-Whirl.

"Sammy, this place is closing soon. Forever. What does it matter if the haunted house is really haunted?"

"I was just ... I thought you said you wanted to work right up until ... and that we'd keep looking for ways out of your deal." Sam was glad Dean had found a momentary distraction from his doom. But he knew that when the rainbow of eye-blurring neon faded forever, so too would the lights in Dean's eyes and he'd sink back into the guarded gloom he tried to hide so valiantly.

Dean batted away the computer print-out that Sam held out to him, the page splattered with mustard that Dean had been dipping his corn dog in.

"We already got a real corpse out of a fun house, remember?" Dean complained, pulling out money from his jeans and ordering an elephant ear.

"This isn't why we're really here and you know it. Bobby said there are legends of Deal Breakers here. Magic mirrors, soul splitters, shadow people." Sam's hands gestured wildly, trying to get Dean to focus for just a minute.

"You and I both know that isn't true. Bobby found a blog. A blog, Sam. Probably some nut job who can't bear the thought of this place closing down so they're appealing to anyone who might try to save the old junk heap. It's gone, so am I. Besides, I already told you, if I try to break that deal, you die.

"Then explain this." Sam shoved a small, black book under his brother's nose. "It was Bela's. She was trying to get here." Sam looked at Dean hopefully.

"Bela was probably the blogger! You know yourself how she made her living, tricking old ladies into thinking their dead Chihuahua wanted them to invest in fake stock or something." Dean's eyes ran over the pages of the little book, over the stick figure drawings that stirred his memory and made the skin on the back of his neck prickle.

"Flip the pages quickly and just watch," Sam urged. "It's like one of those books we had as kids where you turn the pages and the pictures move."

The word Igeek/I was on the tip of his tongue, but Dean complied, watching as the flutter of aged pages silenced him.

_A figure approached a cross roads. It was drawn like a comic, but black and white. A hole was dug. A box was placed in the ground. A kiss. The figure walked away, no longer black and white but grey, almost like the remnants of a pencil sketch after an_ eraser passed over it.

"Yeah, Sam, we already know what I did." Dean turned the pages more quickly, not really wanting to see what would come next.

_A man holds a plant dripping with blood and splashes it on the top and bottom of a door. A few smaller stick figures close the door. Black smoke billows up a cobbled street, seeping under all but the marked door, which it passes by. The sun rises, dead are carried from the unmarked door but the stick figures behind the marked door emerge _unscathed.

Dean looks up with a frazzled expression but quickly puts his calm, collected mask back on. "So?"

"Read the caption under the last frame."

"_Take a bunch of hyssop, dip it into the blood in the basin and put some of the blood on top and on both sides of the doorframe. Not one of you shall go out the door of his house until the morning – Exodus 12:22"_

"Sam, I'm not a door. You can't paint me with blood. Besides, when we were kids, Pastor Jim painted out foreheads with water that represent Christ's blood and made us eat those gross unlevered crackers. If that would have worked, I probably wouldn't have been able to make that deal in the first place."

"Unleavened bread, Dean."

Dean huffed, sounding very much like Sam.

"Okay, unleavened, whatever. Look, I didn't make a deal with some Egyptian King who wants me as a slave. I'm not an Israelite."

"In the depiction in the book, the oppressor is illustrated as black smoke and it doesn't get to take the people behind the door painted in blood. I think whoever wrote this book used the biblical reference as a metaphor or something."

Dean held up his hands in surrender, but reminded Sam that he couldn't help undo the deal.

"Okay, but promise me you'll give me some time here to research Bela's book. And before you tell me it didn't do her any good, I will remind you that she didn't have me watching her back. There might be a blood sacrifice or something that can get you out--"

"And if we find another corpse in the fun house in the meantime?"

"A bonus."

XXXX

"Cut, cut, cut!" I yell from atop the _do not stand up_ sign on the first crest of the roller coaster. But alas, they can't hear me. Elvis used to shout at his television the same way, you know. Shot a few of 'em too. Television sets, I mean. I won't shoot Sam or Dean though, even though they are being cliché and out of character.

It really is a shame that Bela never really owned that book. I just planted it in her hotel room when the boys went to check it out after they got free from_ hey-fella-can-you-spare-a-body-part-man._ I would have given Bela these clues if I'd liked her. But I never really cared for her much. And Bela never made her deal at a cross roads, her deal came to her.

I grow bored. A bit. If it weren't for the unusually good concessions here, I'd leave the boys to their own devices. Send them on a Horcrux hunt or something. Oh, come on, don't pretend you don't know what they are. You read Harry Potter six times. I told you I'm a nice guy sometimes. I saw that struggling, smart, hot woman in England wasting her talents, so I gave her a nudge in the right direction, and now she's richer than the Queen. But before you go wondering if Horcruxes are real, know this. They are. They're not called that of course, and no, I'm not going to direct Dean to split his soul or something vile like that. He's cliché enough. And I'm also not going to let him in on the whole _Peter Pan take your shadow off to save your soul when they come for you_ sort of thing. Been there, done that. That's two writers that owe me big time. And P.S. Peter really did want to grow up. But I am a Trickster after all. And then there's Shakespeare, but don't even get me started on that. The truth _is_ stranger than fiction.

XXXX

Sam and Dean checked into the hotel room Bela had made reservations for. Not like she was going to be using it and it was paid for another seven days. Smelled better than the places they usually stayed in, and it had a heart-shaped Jacuzzi.

"So, listen, Sam, when there's a tee shirt on the door handle, that means go find some internet café and come back later." Dean said, gesturing toward the hot tub.

Sam rolled his eyes but acknowledged bro-code number three. Dean didn't have much time left, and though Sam was irritated at how lackadaisical he seemed to be taking it, he couldn't deny him a little fun.

But fun wasn't going to happen for Dean tonight. His stomach gave a loud gurgle, and he ran for the washroom.

"Told you not to eat that second elephant ear," Sam muttered, plopping down on the bed and turning on his laptop. Ten minutes later, not wanting to intrude but slightly curious, Sam called out, "Hey, Dean, you're not gonna let a couple of elephant ears, cotton candy and corn dogs get the better of you are you?"

"Bite me, bitch."

Sam laughed until the door opened and a haggard looking Dean stepped out. Sam wanted to tease, but he settled for asking Dean if he was okay.

"I'm fine, Sam."

Sam noticed that the fan wasn't on. "So you managed to avoid Montezuma's revenge then? Because otherwise, get back in there and hit the fan, I want to shower later."

Dean glared at him. "Couldn't ... you know."

"Huh," was all Sam said. He fished in the first aid kit and handled Dean a glass of water with two foaming tablets in it to settle his stomach.

By morning it was clear that Dean was still uncomfortable.

"So, ah, how long since you—" Sam asked but was met with a glare from Dean that shut him up instantly.

Sam put two sugars in Dean's coffee that morning, and Dean grimaced in distaste.

"What, I heard that sweet coffee sometimes..."

"We are not having this discussion, Samantha." But Dean drank the damned girly coffee anyway.

XXXX

Dean followed Sam around all day, letting his little brother investigate rows of _the amazing fortune tellers_, which were no more than plastic dummies sitting in extravagant booths that you flipped a coin into the mouth and they told you generic crap that could apply to anyone.

Dean watched Sam follow the instructions, watched as Sam silently mouthed his question, his wish.

Sam placed another buck fifty into the slot of the machine, watching the coins roll into the huge opening and closing mouth of the dummy. The eyes flashed yellow, didn't matter that the visible yellow bulbs were the cause. Sam leapt back, landing on his butt at Dean's feet as the head tilted back and a card shot out of its mouth. Sam honestly didn't want to reach his hand inside the shoot to grab the card. He stood up, legs shaking telling himself that he was being stupid. He reached forward slowly, his body as far away as it could get while still being able to get the damned card.

"Boo!" Dean shouted. He couldn't help it. He laughed. He hadn't seen the yellow eyes. Until now.

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam hissed as the eyes went dark again and the mouth stopped moving.

"Dean, you wanna—," Sam asked, pointing at the machine.

"No way, Sam, I already told you. I can look the other way while you do your thing, but if I try anything–" he made a slice across his throat dramatically, "You die."

Sam reached into the mouth and read the card while Dean played a hand of poker on a nearby machine.

"Aces and eights, dead man's hand, story of my life," Dean muttered, hoping Sam's card held better news.

XXXX

This is painful, watching those two buffoons. Damn I love candy apples covered with sprinkles for that added bit of sweet nectar. Too bad they wrap it around an apple. I toss the vile thing away. Now, if that sweet red shell were wrapped around marshmallows that would as nostalgic as what granny used to make me for bedtime snack.

XXXX

_Thwack!_

"Ow! What the hell?" Dean complained angrily, picking up the apple and looking up in confusion. There were no trees and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. A llama being led through the crowd snatched the apple from Dean's hand and snorted into his hair.

By the time Sam was done wasting a roll of quarters on Pyrenzo The Great, Dean was not happy. His hair stood up at odd angles gelled with llama snot, and he had a bump on his head and a red trail of artificial food coloring streaking his new coif. If that wasn't bad enough, young women snickered and pointed as they passed.

It was funny, Sam couldn't deny it, but the huge clock at the end of the pier reminded him that time was running out. Despite Dean's pleas that they enjoy some time together, Sam just couldn't do it. A false smile would have to do for now.

"So what's next? Wanna be flung through the air on giant elastics in hamster balls, stick like a bug to fly paper and be spun around, or go get some pie?" asked Sam.

Dean looked a little green.

"You didn't really eat three ice cream sundaes while I researched, did you?"

"No, played poker, flew a kite, got hit by lightening and got my hair done," Dean bit out sarcastically. "Think I'll go back to the room and sit in the Jacuzzi for awhile.

Sam hesitated.

"Not with a girl yet, Sam, you can come."

XXXX

Oh, this is truly pathetic. I'd look away, but it's kind of like the train wreck I caused a few years back. Oh, don't get your panties in a bunch, no one died ... that didn't need killing. How wrong is this picture, the two of them sitting in a heart shaped Jacuzzi? Talking. Think I'm gonna be sick. At least they're wearing swimsuits.

XXXX

Sam finished a beer and handed one to Dean, who twisted the cap off half heartedly before putting it down untouched. His face was flushed.

"Think you should get out now, Dean. You don't look so hot."

Dean got out, wobbled a bit and went to change into dry clothes.

"You okay?" Sam called, restarting the jets.

"Sam, don't. Just don't." Dean came out of the washroom fully dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, hand on his stomach.

XXXX

This might be mean, but then again, humans don't really need their appendix, do they? And there's no Hippocratic Oath for Tricksters just so you know. I mean, come on, this guy's been shot how many times? You'd think maybe one of the bullets could have taken out the stupid useless organ for him by now. I'll be doing him a favor in the long run.

I hear a flap of wings as I swipe at the starling that tried to steal my funnel cake the other day. Wonder how he made out doing a mating dance for that hawk...

"Cas!" I nearly spit out my Red Bull when I recognized my old ... _friend? Enemy? Rival?_

"How the hell are you, ya feathered bastard?" I reach for his hand, which isn't offered in return. Even in his trench coat, he glows too much. I put my sunglasses on, cursing when I touch the lens with the sticky icing sugar from my fingers. Those eyes of his are penetrating. I almost want to suck a lemon so I can match his scowl, but lemons are poisonous to Tricksters, so I won't go there. Besides, you catch more flies or other winged things with honey than vinegar, right?

"Adarin," Cas gets right to the point. "You must stop meddling with the Winchesters and quoting my Father's Book. You interfere and we'll lose them both."

"Hey, I can be subtle." I'm hurt, really, even more so when Cas picks up my Red Bull and downs it with my last bit of funnel cake.

"Dean almost saw you with that apple, _Eve,_" Cas chides me. At least I think he did, his facial expression never changes.

"You saw that, eh? It was awful, sour and organic," I shiver, trying to explain. "Besides, word has it that you have no plan."

"And you do?"

"No," I admit. "But I may be able to mark him so that he'll be easier to find in the pit if we have to get him out. Mark the door of his soul so to speak."

"_We_ will not be going to Hell unless it's commanded. I've lost seven of my brothers, and this war hasn't fully begun. That will be a last resort. You know as well as I that finding and retrieving an in tact soul is nearly impossible."

"I specialize in the impossible. Think of it as an insurance plan in case you fail because, let's face it, so far you have nothing."

Cas starts to glow brighter, and I hope he doesn't smite me again. Damn that hurt last time. I had to drink nectar through a straw until my teeth grew back.

"We have work for them," Cas reminds me, deadly serious this time. "Marking a soul is not like marking a door. The blood on the slave's door was a preemptive strike. Humans put the blood on and God helped them close the door. Dean opened the door and we cannot close it."

"Hey, this isn't my home, but it's one hell of a playground and I don't like the bullies taking away my balls," I say, pointing to the Winchester boys. "Get it? Ha!" I laugh. Cas doesn't. Truth is, for some stupid reason I like these guys. They're fun to play with, but I don't want to be the cat that tires the mouse until it dies. And I had a brother once. We used to re-open the cotton candy stand when it closed and eat all night, talking about stupid humans thinking the Seven Wonders of the World were natural. That was one hell of a tantrum the day my brother punched the hole that is now the Grand Canyon when mom told him to eat his chocolate before he got his dessert. He was just a kid the day he was ruined. The day he tricked a demon by mistake. Kid said he was sorry. But demons aren't the forgiving type. Not like me. I mean, sure, yeah, the Winchesters tried to kill me but they thought I was bad. Demons _are bad_. Cas? I don't know.

"My Father has a message for you. You are not to interfere with the deal. You have no idea what you're dealing with. That is all."

I almost expected Cas to be beamed up or something, but he disappears in a burst of light that catches the youngest Winchester's attention, and he shoots out of the hot tub on those still too gangly legs and looks out the window. I cringe as his lips move in a silent wish. He thought it was a shooting star, something to make a wish on. If he only knew, the wish would be a prayer and like all his others, it would go unanswered, for now.

I promised Cas that I wouldn't interfere with the deal, but I didn't promise that I would sit by and let it all happen without a Plan B. I can't get Dean out of Hell, but Cas could, and I could help Cas find Dean if they let me … if they don't interfere before I can get my plan to come to fruition. I'll never be able to get my brother back. By now he will be someone I wouldn't recognize, someone I and any other living being would have to fear. And if one or both Winchesters dies in the attempt, Cas is no further ahead or behind and I've done nothing to break the contract.

I turn my attention back to the Winchesters, cringing as Dean drinks half a bottle of that vile pink stuff that, while sweet, is no Canadian maple syrup.

XXXXXXX

"Dean, if you haven't um, _gone_ yet, you shouldn't drink that stuff. It'll just make it worse."

"And what would you suggest, Samantha? Holy water?"

"Well, if you _went from that_, that would make it holy shi– Right?" Sam replied with a smirk.

"Funny."

Though the pink stuff didn't have the desired affect, Dean felt better, and being Dean, his thoughts turned to his last days and living them to the fullest again. Sam complied with Dean's wishes to have some fun, but he still shoved the laptop into its case and took it along.

After waiting in line for twenty minutes, Sam and Dean were strapped into a harness like those of hang gliders and were being hoisted hundreds of feet into the air.

"You won't fly but you'll do this?" Sam bit his lower lip in frustration. His hair was still damp, and he shivered from the wind that had come up suddenly.

Whey reached the top and were being jostled sideways by the wind, Dean pulled the ripcord sending them literally flying through the air.

"I'm a bird, I'm a plane, I'm freaking Superman!" Dean yelled, whooping with joy at each crest and glide back until the harness slowed and swung lazily like sheets on a clothesline. He looked over at Sam, realizing that Superman never had a sidekick and Sam was definitely Robin. But he wasn't going to call him that. Ever. "Nah, I'm Batman," Dean grinned.

XXXX

This would be easier to gauge if humans weren't so frail. They're just bags of water and bones really. There are easier ways of doing this, but I can't get caught. I'm not too worried about Cas, it's _them_ I'm worried about. But I've got a stake in this war, and this all has to look like an accident. A burst appendix and some complications would have been quicker, but they're onto me and with Dean's freakish pain tolerance he's not going to give in any time soon. Shame, it would have been less painful in the long run for both of them. Oh hell, who am I kidding? I can't crash them here in front of a park full of kids. Plan A for Appendix it is.

XXXX

Sam actually enjoyed the ride once it slowed down, when it was just them swinging side by side. When they were being reeled in, Dean let out a gasp of pain.

"Dean? You alright, man?"

Dean's face was ashen as he tried to clamp his arms to his stomach through the heavy canvas harness.

When they were back on the platform, Dean couldn't move. This was embarrassing. He'd been shot and attacked by creatures most people didn't even know existed and demons and here he was paralyzed by a damn steady diet of funnel cake and beer? So not fair.

Sam tried to help him out of the harness but when Dean groaned, Sam told the ride operator to call an ambulance.

Dean glared. "It's a stomach ache, Sam, nothing more. I don't need a freaking ambulance."

"I think it's your appendix." Sam felt Dean's forehead. "You have a fever."

"You studied law, not medicine. Now help me up."

"Not gonna happen."

Flashing lights from an ambulance melded with the flashing psychedelic glow from the game alley. Dean closed his eyes against the sudden headache. _Last time I checked the appendix wasn't in my head,_ he thought irritably.

Dean was shot up with painkillers by the paramedics and taken from the harness onto a _Oh damn it, no_ fire truck that had to be called to get him down from the platform. It was absolutely humiliating. Dean was pissed. He could've cut out his own appendix if he had to with a good bottle of Jack.

Someone leaned over him and for an instant he recognized him.

_YOU!_ he tried to shout but was silenced by the oxygen mask the man put over his face.

"S'mmy? Trick … It's The Tricks … 'Mfine."

"Sure, you're going to be fine," Sam grimaced, his gaze never leaving Dean's face.

_Damn Sam and his earnestness, how he could not see the very creature who had made his life a living hell for six months?_ Dean fought against the mask and the IV, but the drugs were making him hazy and tired.

Sam tried to stay calm. He wasn't sure if Hell was hell trying to claim his brother a little early or not, but he wasn't ready. He clung to Dean's hand until someone pried him away.

"Rigidity in the lower abdomen, crap, it burst. Let's move people!" shouted one of the paramedics.

It was as if everything was in fast motion. Dean was brought down from the fire truck and ushered into the ambulance. Sam was told to follow. It was only when he was staring after the ambulance after it rounded a bend near the roller coaster that he realized exactly what was happening.

_I'm not ready yet._

Sam ran as fast as he could. And the only thing he remembered on the way to the hospital was how wrong it felt to be driving the Impala without Dean.

Papers were shoved into Sam's hands as he entered the ER. All anyone could tell him was that Dean's appendix had burst and the doctors were trying to stabilize him before surgery.

A harried nurse asked Sam some questions. How had Dean been feeling lately? Any abdominal discomfort? For how long? Sam suddenly felt guilty. If he'd had a stomachache for days, Dean wouldn't have let it go. Dean would have made him see a doctor even if they had to steal another credit card to do it. He'd been so focused on saving Dean that he hadn't seen what was right before him. He thought Hellhounds would come for his brother, not appendicitis.

Sam was answering the questions as well as he could when he heard a doctor swear from the curtained off area Dean had been whisked into.

"What do you mean we don't his blood type and no O? This boy will need it during the surgery."

Sam rolled up his sleeve and parted the curtain. "I'm his brother.

The doctor told Sam that Dean had peritonitis, a potentially fatal effect of a burst appendix and they needed to operate and crosscheck their blood types as a precaution even though Sam assured him they were compatible.

After blood tests and what seems like too long, Sam was sitting next to Dean, willing his blood to fill the bag quicker. He could only stare at Dean's drugged out expression as he tried to talk behind the oxygen mask and tell him everything was going to all right. When the orderlies arrived to take Dean to surgery, Sam tried to stand up, tears in his eyes as he wobbled and grasped Dean's hand.

"If you wanted to be blood brothers there are easier ways of doing it, jerk," Sam choked, trying to be like Dean, strong, in control, not scared. Only Dean looked scared, and his mouth formed words that Sam couldn't understand. Sam knew he wouldn't see the Hellhounds when they came for Dean, but he tried to feel them if that was even possible. Were they lurking just out of sight? Were they going to steal his brother early?

XXXX

Did you know Dean always wanted to be a fireman? The look on his face as I put the mask on his yap back at the park was priceless. I hid from Sam. Not eager to see him just yet. As soon as Dean was at the hospital, I traded my fire gear in favor of my Hawaiian shirt and Bermudas shorts.

I feel sorry for Sam, so I send a cute nurse his way, not that he'd notice right now but still, it's a nice gesture, right?

Thanks to me unplugging the refrigeration system at the hospital and spoiling the blood, Dean is now marked by Sam's blood. You see, Sam's blood is different. Some call him a freak. I prefer to call him a Heinz fifty-seven hybrid as his blood is marked by evil mixed with his goody-two-shoes God given stuff. If Cas or someone has to go after Dean in Hell, they'll be able to sense him because now his blood different from pure demon blood. Pity I can't tell Sam that, he's so very scared about going dark side … I'm not saying it won't happen, though. But the blood thing? Think of it as a DNA magnet, sort of like a GPS. Sam's blood carries stuff that we gods can sense.

It is my genius version of the blood mark on the door.

XXXX

A nurse helped Sam lay down. He was unsteady, not so much from giving more than the amount of blood than is usually allowed, but from fear. A straw was pressed to his lips, and he barely tasted the apple juice sliding down his dry throat. I thought about causing a mix up in Urology with the whole apple juice thing but that would have been overkill at this point. Still, I am a Trickster and old habits die hard…

Sam swiped his hands across his face, suddenly feeling weary and out of ideas. He prayed, he begged, but no one listened. They still had a month. He was not getting cheated out of that month with Dean. The nurse pushed Sam down when he mumbled something about needing to go to the car for books for research to save Dean.

She smiled at him. "Sam, I'm very sure the _doctors_ know what they're doing and don't need any advice. But that's very sweet."

XXXX

"Damn it, Cas, you scared me," I huff as feathers glide to the ground and disappear in the summer heat like melting snow. For those beautiful white, pristine feathers, that god-awful trench coat makes Cas look unkempt. I mean, I know it's hard having to watch over these boys and being not allowed to introduce himself right now, if at all, but he really needs to dress better.

"I know what you did," Cas says.

I cringe, waiting for him to smite me like before. When I don't hear thunder, I unclench my eyes.

"I'm not thanking you," Cas informs me. "You interfered. How it comes into play out remains to be seen."

"Yeah, but you're not smiting me, either, right?"

"No, I'm not smiting you. My Father has forbid me."

"That's not the only reason and you know it. You like me because I don't have to follow the same rules. Because I'll talk to you even when He won't," I say, eyeing the sky for a thunderbolt from Castiel's Dad that's likely to strike me.

But it doesn't come, and that encourages me. I may be just a screw up, but I do have a heart. Well not a real heart, more like that fluffy white sweet stuff you make fluffernutters out of, but you get the idea. I'm hard on the outside, soft and sweet on the inside.

I took a gamble on this one. You see, I am not allowed to interfere with actual life or death; I was only playing with Sam when I 'killed' Dean for six months. But suddenly I see a hole in my plan … if Dean dies from appendicitis, Cas's is not going to be happy with me. Oops.

"He's going to live," Castiel tells me. I hate that he can read my mind. "For now," he adds. Of course he does. _None of us know if Dean is going to go to Hell or not_ blah blah _blah or if what's happening will upset the order of things_ _blah blah blah… _

Cas heads in to the ER bay, invisible to all but the dying. I follow him, a white coat covering my Hawaiian shirt and shorts. I dismiss the nurse who's placing a cold cloth on Sam's head. Boy is he ever white; they really drained him.

One look at me, and Sam sits up and glares.

"Sleep," Castiel tells him, placing invisible fingers on Sam's brow. Sam's eyes slide closed, his features relaxing, and he looks to be in true peace. Good thing because I think he was going to smite me for my list trick on him. And know what? That stuff floating around in Sam's blood I told you about? They're strong in this one. Hee oooo, I loved Star Wars, _The force is strong in this one_. I think Sam will be able to smite one day. Let's hope he knows I only did this to help his brother.

XXXX

Eight hours later, Sam woke up in another room. He turned his head to find Dean in the next bed.

"Dean?"

Dean cracked his eyes open.

Sam suddenly remembered how to breathed again.

XXXX

Cas had no part in what I did to Dean, but he agreed to help heal him. He even got me some hyssop extract needed to keep the blood bond strong. Glad he went to Egypt to get it because I'm sort of persona non-gratis among some demigods there right now.

Sam doesn't know that Dean is marked. Cas forbade me to tell. He'll go on reading the book he thinks the Talbot wench owned. In the meantime, when Dean's feeling better, which according to Cas should be two days, I'll book them Bela's room until they move on so they can have some fun in their last days together.

I don't know what will happen. Dean might still go to Hell, but now we will have a way to find him. I only hope that Sam will be able to find a little of Dean in _himself_ to sustain him if the deal can't be broken. I wonder if I should take a little of Dean's blood for Sam … nah.

Cas turns away from the small window and leaves the brothers to the comfort they need right now.

"Red Bull?" I ask Cas.

He accepts.

I don't think angels sleep anyway … do they?


End file.
